He Didn't Lose Her
by Crystabel.Shalott
Summary: "He didn't lose her. Not that day, nor in the ones that followed" (3x05 AU)


_A/N: **Noemi**, buon Natale!_

_I'm sorry about eventual mistakes._

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><p><strong>He Didn't Lose Her<strong>

Tom wasn't sure if silence had really fallen into the corridor or if it was just his mere imagination. His mind was probably still to busy to elaborate the news that doctor Clarkson had just given him, that even if a bombing was happening right in front of him he couldn't have cared less. There was only one word that kept echoing inside his brain, repeated thousands of time, a dreadful thought that had been spat out not long ago and that now had his complete attention.

_Eclampsia._

Sybil showed all the symptoms of eclampsia, and the tests that the doctor had made only confirmed it. And yet, even though the real extent of Sybil's condition had been explained, no one was doing anything.

No one was moving.

No one was taking any decision.

No one knew which doctor to trust.

But wasn't it obvious? Not only the answer about where to put one's loyalties but also the state Sybil was in. Tom might have not been experienced when it came down to childbirth, but even he knew that most surely it wasn't normal that Sybil was going on drifting from lucidity to confusion, talking about how they had just to lay back and look at the stars or that she wasn't on duty giving excuses about her sitting on the bed.

_Of course she is distressed, she is about to give birth!_

That wasn't distress, it was something else.

God, how he wanted to punch Sir Philip Tapsell in order to shut him up. It would have been such a satisfying thing to do: clench his fists, step closer and just hit the London doctor in the face. But he also knew that as much as he craved to do so, he had to hold back for everyone's sake: his and Sybil's for starters. If Tom would have lost his temper, he would have lost any saying in the matter, he would have been sent off somehow of that he was sure. And he couldn't risk it, not now that apparently he was the only person in the corridor to actually think reasonably.

Why was everyone just standing there?

Why didn't anyone take a decision?

Why was it so difficult to trust doctor Clarkson, when all of them knew that he had known Sybil since she was a child and probably had more knowledge about her medical records than Tapsell would ever have?

For heaven's sake, they should have taken Sybil to the hospital in first place!

They should have listened to _him _in first place!

"Could we get her to the hospital?" he all but screamed, the anger, worry, and urge in his voice no longer hidden.

"Move her now would be tantamount to murder" explained Sir Philip.

But so was making her deliver the baby at Downton, as doctor Clarkson had kindly explained. Between the two solutions the idea of giving Sybil a cesarean section was at first choice probably the most weird and unacceptable but, on balance, it gave Sybil a chance to live.

And he wanted Sybil to live.

He wanted it desperately.

"Sir Philip, admit it, you're beginning to detect the symptoms yourself. You can see her distress"

"Can you?" asked Cora.

One had to be blind not to notice it.

The anger was hitting him in waves. Anger towards Sir Philip who was probably just trying to show that he, who had a fancy study in London, was better and more experienced than doctor Clarkson, a mere village doctor. Anger towards Robert, who once again seemed to think only about appearances and reputations. Of course Sir Philip knew more: he was famous and had a status in the city, as if that per se gave the man a better medical education. Anger towards everyone because they were all gambling with Sybil's life.

He wasn't ready to lose her - not now, not ever-. Tom looked up at doctor Clarkson, a pleading look and an urgency in his voice as he asked: "If she has the operation now, do you swear you can save her?"

"I cannot swear it. But if we do not operate and if I am right about her condition, then she will die"

Somehow, even if it wasn't the answer Tom had wanted, the sentence reassured him. Wasn't it better to at least try? Wasn't it better to have a chance to save both Sybil and the baby and actually make something about the matter instead of just saying no, assuming that nothing was going on?

Maybe it all would have gone wrong (because no matter what he had to consider this possibility) but they would have looked back and known that at least they had done something.

Sir Philip, his arrogant voice as he mocked doctor Clarkson only adding more disgust inside of Tom, urged Lord Grantham to take a decision. And he hated it with all his heart. Robert (of whom tom didn't exactly have a high opinion anyway) wasn't the right person to ask about such matters. Everyone knew his position. But even if Robert would have had other points of view he still wouldn't have been the right person: in the past his opinions and acts didn't exactly reveal themselves as the best solutions and, as closest of kin, it was actually Tom with whom the decision should have laid.

Tom was about to reply to Sir Philip when Cora interrupted him and spoke her mind. She wanted Sybil to be taken to the hospital _now. _In the midst of despair Tom found an ally, which in reality was all he needed. With his mother-in-law on his side, with her sharing his mind, it was more plausible that his decisions wouldn't have just cut off and ignored for the mere reason that he was nothing more than the ex-chauffeur.

"You'd take her to the hospital?"

"I would have taken her an hour ago!" replied Cora.

"She is my daughter!" screamed Robert, as if his bond to Sybil was a justification enough to make decisions for her.

"And she is my wife! But before that Sybil is a person and I'm sure that, if something like this would have happened to someone she knew, she would have decided to trust science and turn her back to how things have always been done. Doctor Clarkson, please!"

A scream came from Sybil's room.

Tom's hart started to beat even faster, the tears burning in his eyes and threatening to run down.

"I'll fetch the car" said Edith before running down the stairs as fast as she could.

Another scream.

"God help us" whispered Tom.

Robert and Sir Philip were pushed to the side, while the rest of them made their way to Sybil's room.

She was sitting on the bed, pale as a ghost and her face distorted into a mask of pain. Tom sat down beside her, taking her hand and gently squeezing it, murmuring comforting words in Irish before saying "My darling, we are taking you to the hospital. You just have to resist a little longer"

"Tom!" she replied "Aaargh"

"I know you can do it love. Come on"

With the help of the others and following the detailed instructions given by doctor Clarkson, they brought her downstairs and lowered her on to the car that Edith had parked right in front of the gate.

"You go, we follow" said Mary, closing the car's door after Tom, Sybil and doctor Clarkson had jumped in.

The journey was quick. The distance from the village wasn't long and Edith paid extra attention to keep her foot well planted on the accelerator.

"We have arrived" announced Edith.

Sybil was taken out of the car and hospitalized with extreme urgency, while Tom was left alone standing in the empty corridor. And now, that steps forward had actually been made, now that Sybil's life and the baby's were in the hands of a trusted person, now that there was nothing else to do but have faith and wait for a result, he allowed himself to break down.

Tom collapsed on a chair, took his head in his hands, let out a long breath and started to cry. He cried, because it was just another way to get rid of all the tension and anxiety that were inside him. He cried, because it seemed unfair that he and Sybil had waited all those years to finally get together only to live merely two years as a married couple. He cried, because there was the big chance that he might have lost his wife and he couldn't imagine a life without her.

And he felt guilty.

Guilty because they had ended up at Downton, again, because of him and his choices. He made them get trapped in a world ruled by conventions and appearances something that again threatened to destroy their lives and happiness.

He didn't believe there were enough words to say how sorry he was for all this. How much he regretted part of his decisions and, no matter how many times Sybil had reassured him that she didn't hold any grudge against him, how guilty he felt anyway. Because no matter all the reassurances he knew that it was his fault that they were back at Downton, the place that Sybil had tried to run away from, choosing love and not luxury and wealthiness. And they were back into it, trapped.

They had made plans, plans about leaving, but never really discussed them because the baby came first. The plan was to deliver the baby in all safety and then start deciding what to do of the future. But was there a future? What would he do if he had to lose Sybil now? What to do with the baby? Probably leaving anyway after the first months, reach his brother in Liverpool and work in a garage even if it meant making step backwards. There would have been time to start again, find something else.

Not Downton. Whatever happened (and he prayed that everything would have gone in the right way) he would have not staid at the Abbey. A life among the Crawleys, as if he was one of them, wasn't something he could have stood. It would have been the end of him never getting rid of the oppression. And there would have been oppression: no way they would have accepted him for what he really was. The months he had spent at Downton were the proof of it.

And the child? This wasn't the life neither he or Sybil would have wanted for him/her.

And if Sybil lived? The same thing. He would have asked her to leave Downton once she had regained forces, once she felt well again and they had settled down with the baby. He would have been happy to live nearby, if she wanted. A cottage in the village or something along that line. The important thing was not being in the same place as her family, he wasn't sure that they could have made it. It was just stressful, Sybil and him had their own ways, their own routine and it was completely different from the one the Crawleys had. Two worlds colliding together.

Everyone had made sacrifices (something that made Tom feel bad about him) but, after this evening, he wasn't sure he could have done it again and for the rest of his life. Especially when the sacrifice involved Robert, who once again had shown to care a lot more about appearances rather than anything else.

_Sir Philip Tapsell knows what he is doing, he has a relevant position in London. _

As if it was an important credential. Status certainly didn't involve a better knowledge. Sybil would have agreed on that.

Sybil...

_She is my daughter._

As if it meant that it gave Robert the right to take decisions about Sybil.

Even worse, Robert had once more forgotten who Sybil was. Because yes, Sybil was his daughter but that didn't mean that she would have agreed on his decision. That didn't mean that they shared the same look on things. That didn't mean that Sybil would have preferred to be treated by Sir Philip Tapsell instead of doctor Clarkson. Sybil trusted Clarkson, she had worked with him.

Somehow, Tom felt, it was as if he had found himself in that room at the Grantham arms all those years ago when he had defied Lord Grantham for the first time. The shock on his Lordship's face, the evident anger as Tom, an Irish socialist chauffeur had talked to him about honor and most of all insulted him by saying that he (Robert) didn't even see that his daughter's decision had been made with her own free will and out of love and a wish for happiness.

The anger and shock were the same after all. For in fact, Tom was sure, how dared the ex-chauffeur (because had his father in-law ever stopped considering him like that?) claim to make such a vital decision? What did Tom know?

Well... Apparently more than him, that was for sure.

And he had more sense.

"Tom?" a voice called from beside him.

He looked up, finding Edith standing in front of him.

"Did you bring them here?"

"Not yet. I want to wait till we have news, I think it's better for you to be free of unwanted presences. I can go too, if you want"

"Stay. I'm..." his voice broke down, and his mind was overwhelmed by his fear, by images of Sybil dying "I'm not sure I can do this alone. I feel like I'm going mad"

"It's going to be all right. Doctor Clarkson knows what he's doing... Much more than Philip Tapsell did"

"Aye, but..."

How long was it since they had started the operation?

How long had he been sitting here?

What if something was going wrong?

"You would like to have some news"

Tom nodded.

"Not much time has passed, it may feel like an eternity but it isn't. Tom? Don't think about papa, I know you do. Don't do it, he shouldn't matter. The way he has acted shouldn't matter and what he thinks about Sybil having a cesarean doesn't mean anything. You and Sybil never bothered about anyone's opinions as long as you two were happy. As long as you two could be together" Edith paused a moment, unsure if going on or not with her speech. Was she the right person to do so? Sure she and Tom were friends and had bonded much since his and Sybil's marriage, but maybe there were things she was not supposed to say or that he didn't want to hear, not from her that was "You made many sacrifices, both of you. But those sacrifices, followed by agreements, were always made by the two of you without anyone interfering. What I'm trying to say is that you don't have to sacrifice your future with Sybil because now you start to listen to others. Because you start to listen to papa or Sir Philip. Their ideas and opinion would have probably led to no future if doctor Clarkson is right"

"This could end the same way" admitted Tom.

"The chances are little. Tom, doctor Clarkson knows what he is doing"

"I know but... I'm not ready to lose her. I try to think how it would be without her and I can't even imagine it, let alone live it through"

"You won't have to find out"

"It's just that nothing means more than she does. In all those years and even now, I would have never thought that I could lose her in this way. I feared that she would have said no, that she would have given me away, or that she would have changed her mind, but never did I think about losing her by childbirth. Not these days"

For a moment it looked as if Edith had to add something else, but she didn't. She just took Tom's hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze before letting it go and adjusting herself on the chair.

They sat there for what seemed an eternity.

Their thoughts turned to Sybil, a silent prayer on their lips. And, in a constant state of fear and restlessness, they stared at the empty air.

Then they heard footsteps in the corridor and they looked up, seeing a nurse arriving, walking as quick as possible.

Tom stood up abruptly, the pavement under the chair creaking as the latter was pushed to the side, the back of it banging against the wall behind it.

"How is she? How are they?" he said, trying to keep his hopes down.

"They have both made it through, safe and sound. Both are out of danger"

Tom sighed out of relief, finally free of the burden that afflicted him.

"We want to keep Mrs. Branson here for a couple of days, to be sure. But on a general note there really is nothing to fear. Congratulations Mr. Branson"

"Can... Can I see them?"

"Yes, if you follow me"

"Edith... thank you. Really. Do you..."

"Go Tom, I'll drive back to Downton and come later again"

This said Edith walked away.

Tom had to resist to the temptation of running towards Sybil's room. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted to do than seeing her again. Seeing her again _alive _and _safe._ And the child, his and Sybil's baby.

"Is it...?"

"It's a girl. A beautiful and healthy girl, and here we are" replied the nurse as she opened the door.

He found Sybil lying on the bed, her back slightly tilted due to the pillows under it. She looked pale, her hair was still a mess and a layer of sweat covered her skin but apart from that she looked fine. She smiled to him, as she saw him entering, and his heart skipped a beat. Looking at her, he was again overwhelmed by the love he felt for her, something that he would have never felt tired of nor that would have stopped making him feel amazed.

"Tom" murmured Sybil "Have you seen her? She is beautiful, and so very little. Doctor Clarkson?"

"Here"

The doctor gave Tom the time to sit down beside Sybil and adjust himself, before handing him the bundle that contained the baby.

A daughter.

His and Sybil's daughter!

"She is ours. We made her, can you imagine that?" asked Sybil, her hand moving to her husband's and holding it as he held the baby.

"Easily" replied Tom with a wink, making Sybil smile even brighter "She looks just like you. Oh my darling, I love you both so very much"

"I love you too. Tom?"

"What is it?"

"We still need a name. I was thinking... I like Evelyn, and I know that you wanted something Irish but"

"Sybil, I don't care. Evelyn is a wonderful name, and we can call our next ones with Irish names"

"Next ones? You want others"

"One day. In future. But before everything you have to recover, and then... Well for a while let's just stay with Evelyn here"

Sybil nodded. "Evelyn Branson, it sounds good. And, just that you know, one day I want other children too. But right now? I just want to rest. Will you stay here? With me?"

"If I'm allowed"

"Just don't go Tom. Please find a way to persuade Doctor Clarkson, I don't want you to leave me"

"I won't. Never. But, my darling, you have to promise me the same thing"

"I did that years ago" whispered Sybil, the words barely understandable as she drifted off to sleep.

Tom got up from the bed and instead sat down on a chair beside it. Maybe not the most comfortable place but he didn't mind. He cradled Evelyn and talked gibberish to her and, as soon as she too had fallen asleep, he handed her to the nurse who put her in the cradle that had been brought into the room.

He tried to sleep but every now and then he woke up, the urge to check if Sybil was still alive, impossible to resist. But the discovery was always the same: she was doing fine. Fast asleep but still breathing, regularly and without any sign of distress or discomfort.

And guess what? He didn't lose her. Not that day, nor in the ones that followed.


End file.
